


Touch

by FangedAngel



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/FangedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in the midst of awards season, Jesse comes to a conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parka_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parka_girl/gifts).



> This was written in a hurry on Christmas Eve. It's not as perfect as I would have liked, but I hope it makes an acceptable gift and that it makes you smile.

One night during awards season, you share drinks with him in the bar of some random over-priced hotel that tries too hard to seem sophisticated. Everything seems too polished, too neat, unreal, like this situation you find yourself in. Drinks after an awards show with Andrew, preparation for the upcoming event at the Kodak Theater in a few weeks' time, and with it, the realisation that you're not even thinking about nominations and awards, you're not even allowing Hollywood to seep under your skin with its fake-diamond charm. He distracts you from all of it; he's all you think about.

It was almost easy, at one point, during the weeks when you were in New York and he was back home, an ocean and a life away, to forget about your fascination with him. It was just you and your cats and your girlfriend and a pile of scripts that was considerably larger than usual. And then one night you woke up because your phone was ringing and you answered because it was him, and it was his voice, and you remembered. You couldn't come close to forgetting again, after that, and especially not now, when he's constantly at your side, so close, too close, with his smile and his ridiculously perfect/crazy hair.

He's talking about physical training and how he's actually started hating the gym and how Emma keeps texting him the most ridiculous things

"She mentioned you a few times."

"Yeah, well. I don't think you'll beat the epic bromance Emma and I have going on. Ever."

He laughs, looking away from you, at the other clients in the bar. He always observes his surroundings, trying to absorb every bit of information available to him, as fascinated by the world around him as you are by him.

He takes a sip from his glass and you follow the movement, staring without a hint of subtlety at his lips, lingering on the rim of the glass, until he catches you watching, and you don't look away. His smile doesn't falter for a second, and you think that maybe he spent more time observing you than you were ever aware of.

"Perhaps we should continue our conversation upstairs."

"Perhaps we should."

You make a crack at his accent and he winks at you. You realise that you're on the receiving end of the trademarked Garfield charm two seconds late. As you walk out of the bar, you notice that the girl at the table in the corner has noticed him; he hasn't noticed her. For whatever pathetic reason, this makes you smile. He notices.

He leads you to his room, not yours, and you're overwhelmingly thankful that Justin couldn't make it here, because then he would have stuck with the two of you for after-dinner drinks and the conversation would have probably flowed in a completely different way.

You sit next to him on the sofa, aware of how you're close enough to touch, close enough to almost feel the warmth of him. He's leaning back, head turned to a side because he's watching you, waiting for you.

"What do you want, Jesse?"

You look at him, buying time, because there's no way you can find an easy answer to such a complex question, not really. You want to do everything at once, right now, but you have to settle on the first thing, on a beginning.

"I want to touch you."

He takes your hand, pressing it to his cheek for a second before he kisses your palm. You feel weirdly entranced at the feeling and the sight, his lips on your skin, his eyelids fluttering, like he's thought about this, like he wants to savour this.

"You know you can touch me. You've known for ages."

You move until your body touches his, your hand cupping his cheek, his on your neck, pulling you closer, your lips on his, his tongue slipping between them. You kiss him and he kisses you and you answer the perfect little sound he makes in the back of his throat with one of yours.

You end up tangled with him, legs twined, your body over his, covering. You kiss him and he kisses you and you don't care about how raw your lips feel, or about the ache in your jaw, or about how hard you are, how hard he is, how you can feel him, against your thigh.

He nibbles at your jaw, pulling on skin with his teeth, playfully, until he arches against you, rubbing slightly against you, his lips curled into a smile at the half-desperate sound you make, a smile that you try your best to kiss away.

You end up leading him to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and taking his clothes off, one at a time, kissing, touching, each inch of exposed flesh, the shapes and angles and sharp curves of him, while he looks at you, watching you. He pulls you closer when you're both naked, ever closer, like he's trying to fuse you together, and it's possibly never felt like this, never quite like this. You don't know whether it's the intensity in his eyes, or the way he kisses you, the way he touches you, like he wants to taste all of you, feel all of you.

"Jesse."

He whispers your name against your lips, and it sounds like an affirmation, like a plea, like the smallest of questions and you pull him with you, over you, on the bed.

*

In the morning, you wake up with sticky fingers, your arms wrapped around him, barely any space between you. He's holding you, his fingers feeling like yours do and you can't help smiling, because you're having a morning after with him and you're in desperate need for a shower but you're not even remotely bothered by that fact, because you're so close to him, touching him, being with him.

You let your eyes fall shut again, not sleeping but just enjoying the feeling of resting next to him, with him. You realise he's awake when he starts tracing patterns across your back, his fingers gliding, making invisible drawings. You kiss him, the lightest of kisses pressed to his shoulder, before looking at him.

"Why did it take you so long? I've wanted this since...the second time we met, I suppose."

You shrug and he smiles, because he knows sometimes it's all you can do, because he knows that you've got too many thoughts in your head to find adequate answers.

"I didn't know."

He laughs and you consider punching him in the arm as slightly as possible, mock glaring at him.

"You really are quite daft, aren't you? Even Emma's noticed months ago."

"Don't compare me to Emma. That always ends in tears."

"Obviously."

You hide your face in his shoulder, unwilling to face this day more than you have to, even though there's a press conference waiting at noon, even though it's awards season, which seems even more PR-filled than all the stuff they had to do to promote the movie.

He falls back asleep before you, and you close your eyes again, enjoying it, being with him, feeling him, touching him.


End file.
